Simple Things (Self-Insert)
by PervyPanda
Summary: Insidious and subtle. Take over the world brick by brick. To simply the complicated and complicate the simple is my way. Soon all shall trem- ouch, ouch- sis sthap!Sthap! Fine! No more evil monologues, jeez... An oc/si thing with all that it entails. Have fun.
1. Chapter 1: Rickard Stark 1

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_275 AC_

_The North_

_Winterfell - Solar of the Lord._

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In the- _not as rare as one would expect_\- quiet times such as these, my thoughts drift to my children… as they oft do.

My first born and heir; Brandon. Oh my brash Brandon. Brash and brave. A pup of mere ten-and-three, and he _is _still a pup no matter how he may argue.

Fostering at Borrowton under care of Lord Dustin, a loyal and steadfast ally. He will no well by my boy, but I still worry. It has only been a year- _or is it two?_\- since Bran left for the Rills.

However the letters sent home assure me of his health and growth, and improving penmanship- _though that's not saying much._

Brandon's writing before he left were no better than Lyanna's, and she was six.

I suppose Lord Dustin's wife- _a good lady she_\- was making good on her offers to teach him letters. Normally a job for the maesters, but Brandon had proven far to wild for them to teach properly.

A mother's firm hand works best.

'_Not even the Wolf Blood can fight that, the ear pinch of doom shall quell all far and wide...'_

I allow myself a chuckle.

My second son; Eddard. The Quiet Wolf. Not even ten-and-two yet already he has a moniker, one I suspect would stick. Only a year younger than Bran, yet their differences were- _hur_ _hur hur_\- **stark**, so to speak.

'_... I find entirely too much amusement at such litter japes.'_

My little pup Eddard, fostering away Eyrie under Lord Arryn for four years now…

'_The South…'_

The North must connect with the South. For the good of my people, I must foster good and healthy relations with the Southern Lord. I know this to be true in my heart and committed to my decision, yet it still pains me to send my son away so far.

And so young too, three years before his older brother, I worry. I worry he may feel slighted or unwanted. I worry he may think I do not love him. I worry he may feel Winterfell is no longer his home. I worry...

I worry… and yet I do not call him back. Something that had left me in the cold with my lady wife for almost two years.

I sigh heavily.

We reconciled eventually, but once more I felt the cold bite of her winter when it came to foster away Brandon- _I certainly do **not **flinch at the thought_\- but at least this time she was quicker to sway around.

No doubt to do with the relatively close proximity of Barrowton and her tentative- _now rapidly growing_\- friendship with Lord Dustin's wife.

My thoughts drift on to my third child and only daughter.

A smile come unbidden to my face; daughters will always be the pearl of their father's eye.

'_My wild little winter rose.'_

Freight with wolf bloo-

_***Knock Knock***_

-My thoughts are interrupted.

"My lord, there is an issue." Came the voice from behind the solar door.

I certainly do not groan, but it was a close thing. I was in my happy place and all.

But I was also the Lord.

And Lords don't get nice things.

Not for long anyway.

"What is it? I believe the smallfolk have been settled and castle affairs have been seen to already." And wasn't that a trial.

It was winter, North Winter that is. A time when icicles get icicles and have baby icicles that then run of and elope with other icicles to have grandbaby icicles.

It's rather cold.

As such, most remote villages and much of the North's towns have been evacuated to larger and warmer holds till the harshest of Winter may pass.

Of course, one such hold is Winterfell. A new batch from the what could only be called the "midlands of the North" had settled in that day. Sleeping arrangements, food supplies and space allocation must be sorted whilst inventory must be took.

_It was a tiring morning... and afternoon... and evening…_

I had hoped it might be a peaceful night, but…

Alas, that cannot be helped. I am the Lord, this is my duty. I shall do my duty.

But maybe it is nothing to trying hmm? One can hope. One can only hope.

"Wait. Come in first, no point in talking to you from behind the door." I straighten myself in my chair, fixing the furs I wear into a more _lord-like_ style.

The oakwood door swung open easily, I always found the faint groan of it's hinges at work to be a pleasant sound- _the proof of well done workmanship_.

In marched one of my bannermen; Korak if I remember correctly. Hails from White Harbor, eldest brother of three, both parents alive, family all of good health.

As a loyal bannerman and night-shift guardsman, It was not rare I would see him on my occasional night walks after a restless dream or simply taking a stroll to clear the mind having forgone sleep that night.

But it was not he that was the focus of my immediate interest, but his shorter charge following in next to him.

'_Dornish...?'_

...No. Half Dornish at best. Perhaps even some ancestry from Myr? A rare sight in the North indeed, but not completely unheard off. There are some Dornish whores living around the neck, and I'm sure some at least _one _Dornishman has settled here for whatever reason at some point in time.

However, I do believe this is the first time a man of Dornish decent has set foot in the Lord of Winterfell's solar in at least a hundred years... Or mayhap ever. This arrival may be the first in history.

Certainly the first in living memory.

Wasn't that a thought.

Stranger still is that the "man" isn't a man, but a boy.

He couldn't be much older than my little Lyanna, certainly younger than Eddard and Brandon.

Short, barely coming up to Korak's waist, face still rounded by baby fat but his light brown skin was weathered only in the way days of hard outdoor labour could do.

Black, silky hair, a texture you wouldn't see on most Northman's head, fell down to his forehead. The cut was clearly amerturely done, there were tufts longer than others and his ears bangs uneven, but it gave him a boyish charm.

It was also worthy of note that his hair was strangely clean of grease and dirt common to smallfolk.

Dressed in furs common to the North, but of course of far lesser quality to the ones I wear. There were threads and stitches hanging loose, most likely the clothes were well worn.

In the relative shadow of my candlelit solar it was hard to tell but I could see the silhouette of two handle like things poking out over his shoulder.

'_Swords?'_

_No_\- is shake my head- _it couldn't be._

As the two- _my bannerman and the boy_\- stepped forth into the solar, I could pick out more features of the child.

My eyebrows lifted slightly.

A bruise. The area around his eye was darkening, by the morrow he would have a black eye. I had to squint slightly to see, but there was also a cut on his lower lip- _that would probably swell painfully later_.

However what really caught my eye was _his _eyes. Amber. A strange shade, one I find myself surprised at not noting sooner. Like pools of molten gold or perhaps a tone darker, they glowed like soft night lamps all the same.

I find a man's eyes tell much about his character, I have honed and used this skill for years on experienced nobles and cunning fighters alike, yet these eyes of a boy no older than my second child betray nothing.

I find myself at loss.

I look to Korak in question. "For what reason is this child here? Why is he hurt?" I question.

Korak looks uncomfortable, shufflign slightly as he opens his mouth yet struggles to find the words.

"W-well-" "-I beat up one of your guardsmen and demanded an audience."

'_... What?'_

I look to the boy and blink in befuddlement.

"What?"

The boy nodded seriously and continued to look me in the eye- _he had not stopped since he came in_\- I note. An act numerous grown men struggle to achieve, my Stark-grey eyes are known to stifle many.

"I needed to see you. I explained as such to the guardsmen at the gate but they would not listen and said to come back tomorrow, however I needed to see you now, so I beat them up. This, as I expected, caused a scene drawing more attention, after which I stated my desire once more. This time my words were heeded thus here I am."

'_... What did I just hear?'_

His words were mature and sophisticated without any trace of accent. A feat far beyond the normal smallfolk, but I, not even a minute of our "audience", had already come to realise this boy was far from _normal._

I once more looked to Korak in question- t_o question **what **exactly I am unsure_. Regardless Korak nodded, at least confirming the boys words as truth.

There was much I wanted to ask, much I wanted to know, but for now I could only focus on the most simple.

"Why, prey tell, could you not wait till the morrow child?" Yes, my mind latched onto the easiest question.

"Because my sisters may not make it through the night." He answered promptly.

… Well that just begets more questions.

"Sisters-? Wait no-" I raise a hand to stall the answer and brough the other to my forehead. "Explain from the beginning. Who are you, why might your sisters not make it through the night, why do you want to see me?"

Though I suspect the answer to the last question has something to do with curing his sister.

Unfortunately, unlike how many smallfolk choose to believe, I am not almighty. I am only a man. I hope the child does not hold unrealistic expectations of me.

However, somehow I doubt he is so ignorant.

Once more the child nodded seriously and I curse my inability to read his eyes. His words and straight backed posture proves him mature beyond his years- _abnormally so even_\- but I cannot get a grasp of his true nature.

Hopefully the boy's story may lend some insight.

"We hail from the midlands, a nameless village settled east of Torrhen's Square. We arrived this morn with many other smallfolk." He starts.

"-Wait, wait." I hold up a hand. "First tell me your name."

The boy blinks, then suddenly looks slightly abashed. The first break in his solemn expression and finally one that suits his age. For reasons beyond me I felt a slight sense of relief.

"The name's Arthur." For the Sword of Morning perhaps?

The boy- Arthur- looks ready to jump back into his story but Korak interrupts.

"_Milord_."

Both Arthur and I look to the guardsman, but he was only looking at Arthur.

"What? I'm not yer lord." Ah, there's the accent. He did well to suppress it.

"My name is Arthur _milord_." Korak corrects.

Oh.

Korak is right, I had not heard Arthur address me properly since he came in. But my mind was too distracted by his words to notice.

It is forgiven seeing as there was no reason for a smallfolk to be taught etiquette, especially not so young, but it is strange given the sophistication of the rest of his words that he would lack the basic knowledge on how to address a lord.

The reaction of Arthur is not expected however.

His face twisted and nose scrunched up into a look of disgruntlement.

I felt some amusement at the sight, he looked much like Lyanna being scolded at that moment.

The boy my daughters age looked to me.

"Do I hafta?" There was such childish discontent in his words I had to fight down a grin.

"Well…" I only _mildly _drag out the word. "I **am **the Lord."

He shifts.

"... Is that a no...?"

I stare.

"Tch." He click his tongue and this time there is a quirk of my lips. After a snort through his nose and brief glare at Korak I finally looks to me again. No less displeased as before. "... Name's Arthur… _milord_." The word is almost git out.

Such pride from a smallfolk yet I just can't find it in myself to be angered by the child.

The way he tried to say it mockingly at first then realised it hurt him more than I and forced the word out as quick as possible reminded me far too much of Lyanna.

'_Perhaps my precious flower may find a playmate to chase away her winter boredom yet.'_

"Anyway!" The boy almost shouts to hide his wounded pride, as Lyanna often does. "We come from east of Torrhen's Square, and by we I mean myself and my two sisters."

"We are not related by blood, but my bond." He states. "We are orphans, I have looked out for them as long as I can remember, and they I."

'_Ah. Orphans in a small community are either treated rather well or quite bad depending on their parentage.'_

"We were something close to pariahs." Oh. "I was too small to join the menfolk in lumberjacking, and the jobs to carry fallen logs were taken by the lumberjacks sons. My sisters had no mother to teach them sewing or how to do household chores- not that we had much of a house anyway- so all three of us scraped by foraging in the forest. Myself sometimes making the trek to the nearest river on foot to fish."

"We lived of off berries, the occasional fish, the extremely rare times my traps caught some meat and pity."

'_... Sadly not a rare story.'_

"But when winter came, people couldn't afford pity. Thus they adopted the tried and tested _out of sight, out of mind _technique." The boy said ruefully, his words far older than his voice, yet his eyes timeless as ever.

"My sisters fell sick." Arthur said abruptly. "As is to be expected. We had inadequate clothes food and housing for years, we were unprepared for the cold and they are frail. We had a choice between Barrowton and here, I decided their only chance of better housing a food here in the larger Winterfell."

My heart sank. I feel for the child but-

"I can't-" "-Provide such preferential treatment for free?" Arthur interrupts.

I nod silently.

"I know." The boy states. "I realised as much travelling here."

He shook his head.

"There are far more people in the North than I expected. I suppose that is to be expected. I had been in a tiny little village all my life, I should not judge the world by my standards." Truer words had rarely been spoken.

"In truth I had hoped to beg for your kindness at first, but I was disillusioned of the notion fully when we arrived at Winterfell. My sisters and I could only barely get a dry corner to ourselves and that again was only out of pity for our age and circumstance." He was bitter, but resigned.

"However I could not give up. I was already pondering a plan travelling here, though I say plan, I was really just clutching at straws. I could barely think, I would give the most of our rations to my sisters, the starvation was getting to me… as was the cold and exhaustion too I suppose. I was carrying to extra bodies by myself after all."

My eyes brighten slightly- _such strength from someone so young_\- but then darken again. Even then there are others who are sick, others who are orphaned, I cannot make needless exception. For these children to eat another must starve,

"However it came to me." Arthur smiled. I was taken aback by the look, there was an indescribable emotion on his face. "It gave me **strength**, I was considering dying with my sisters at that point, it would certainly be easier..."

There was a far off look on his face, but his eyes were as unreadable as ever… Disregarding that I lean forward at the excuse Arthur may present to me so that I may save his sisters.

Arthur shakes his head to clear his thoughts and looks me in the eye.

'_**!**_'

\- My thoughts pause at the sheer intensity of his gaze.

"You are the Lord." He begins. "Your duty is to the betterment of you people correct?" He asks pointedly.

"... Yes." I answer eventually, the way the question was posed one might expect a trick, but I found none.

"Then I will present to you something that will better the lives of all of the North. An idea and object that I suspect will become standard come the next winter. A thing that will save hundreds of lives just _this _winter with its utility and hundreds and _thousands _more in the years yet to come...**if-**" The word came out strong and stressed.

"... _Only _if you provide my sisters and I safe, warm housing and healthy food for the duration of this Winter." Arthur states his case. "I can work around winter town for clothing and medicine, but I alone cannot provide them stable food nor housing."

Arthur holds my eye in his. "That is all I ask." He finishes.

… I should dismiss his words as folly. By all right they should be, what can a peasant come up with that should have such impact, this should be folly, I should dismiss him… _such words do **not **come to mind even once_.

_'Is this a spell? Some magic? A blessing of the Old Gods? If not, I pray ask of you- **why can't I look away**?'_

"... What is it?" My voice is thick and mind confused. The absurdity bordering insanity of his words, yet sheer conviction he has in them have shook me to the core. A humorous thought, a child shaking this great Lord of the North, yet the truth nonetheless.

This has all happened too quick, it has all been to strange, almost dreamlike.

I am off balance to say the least.

"First _promise_. Promise that if my gift is up to standard you will provide for myself and sisters."

"So I swear."

Arthur nods.

The reaches back over his shoulders… to the two handles?

"Frankly, I'm amazed no one has thought of these before." He draws the things, what is shown are not swords or blades, but two flat… baskets? "These are called snow shoes."

_'... What?'_

.

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**AN**: This is my first attempt at a ASOIAF fic, can you tell? Have I messed up Rickard's character already? Do tell me if I got any dates and ages wrong.

If anyone can tell me what happened to Rickard Stark's wife I would appreciate it. I think she died of grief after his death at Kings Landing, but I can't remember where I read that. It might be wrong.


	2. Chapter 2: Arthur 1 (edited)

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Death by starvation; not the best way to go, but there are certainly worse. Like burning or drowning. I don't think I could deal with the pain or clawing despair those two imply.

At the age of four, I believed those to be my last musings. I was later ashamed to realise I barely spared a thought to the sisters I would leave behind.

However I think I can be pardoned for that, during that moment I was half delirious half giddy, I was filled with irony and bitterness- _I had done my best and it just wasn't good enough_\- I was going to die again.

There was a sense of resignation- _I shouldn't have got that second life in the first place, it only makes sense to be got rid of so quick._

In the end I didn't die- _what a surprise_. I didn't die then, and I didn't die in any of the following occasions.

Even when I should have, even when my tiny little body reached its end again and again; I didn't die.

For with starvation came **steam**. Whenever I approached death once more, my body would burn like a stove. Heat erupted from my innermost cores, warming me viciously, seeping into my bones and permeating throughout my muscle.

Steam would erupt from my pores, the evaporating moisture all the more visible in the cold Northern air. To me those thin and faint white streams floating up to the sky looked like my spirit leaving the body.

I panicked a bit the first time.

For all the resignations and idle musings, I didn't want to die. At the very least I didn't want to _see _myself die, how cruel would that be?

'_Couldn't you just let me sink to black, why must I be aware, why make this harder than it already is?'_

Such thoughts raced through my mind.

'_Fuck a donkey, I'm still alive.'_

Was what followed.

Upon a "steaming," changes would occur to my body. I regain some measure of body fat and bodyweight, resulting in my face being more rounded than it should be (but not abnormally so) plus my strength would increase just a tad.

Then comes the dehydration and dizziness, if I wasn't already on the floor due to starvation making me weak, those two would certainly bring me down.

Strangely the dehydration would pass fairly quickly, quicker still if I had access to water. The dizziness and vertigo was something I just had to tough out.

However most importantly; I would no longer feel hungry.

I would never feel bloated or stuffed, but it was like I had a warm wholesome meal in my belly when in fact I had mostly been eating roots and berries with the occasional fish or salted leftovers for the last three years.

I was like a real weak mini titan or something. Cuts and bruises I may have had whenever I "steamed", would be slightly more healed by the end of it.

Oh, I doubt I could grow back anything, smaller cuts are probably the best it can do in respect to healing.

Maybe, _maybe_, it could help mend a broken bone, but it was only accelerated healing rather than regeneration.

And I don't think for a second I'm immortal. This steaming is accompanied by an intense, if slow and drawn out, burning sensation. This leaves me to wonder _what _exactly I am burning.

I haven't eaten any souls (to my knowledge, who knows what I did whilst [actually] dead) so that leaves the usual more grounded suspects. Namely; lifespan and future potential.

Everything comes at a cost. And I highly doubt such a useful… trait, would be cheap of cost. Without further proof, (how would I even prove it?) I have decided to take my steaming as something that burns lifespan.

'_An abnormal trait that cannibalises the body in order to sustain itself when it needs to_,' thinking it like so will ensure I do not rely on it overmuch.

I think it of a string. Myself at the start and a flame at the end.

Normally the flame at the end burns quietly without moving, but now occasionally it will flare up, eating the string with its flames.

With each flare of the flame at the end, the string at the start that was fraying and thinning will be woven anew, slightly stronger and thicker than before.

These "flares" are my steaming. That "string" is my life.

Eventually I will run out of string to burn, and who knows how much is burnt in a single steaming, who knows how long I have left now? How many years I wonder, Fifty? Fourty? Thirty? Twenty? Less?

If at all possible I would use it sparingly… sadly that wasn't possible.

When my sisters fell ill I was not surprised. I expected it and had prepared for the trial as best I could. We were children living alone, barely scraping by in terms of food and clothing, to fall ill is not a matter of _if _but _when_. So of course I had prepared as best I could for the eventuality.

However I had prepared to face it _in our house_… in our crappy little village. I had stockpiled food as best I could, gathered favours from the other villagers best I could.

Having them in my debt would be impossible, but I did away my pride and endeared myself to them as much as possible. With flattery, hard work or guilt trips, I made sure we were in mind at least.

And as long as we are remembered there would be guilt in the hearts of those who would ignore our suffering. I could play on that guilt at crucial times in order to supplement what we might need. Be that food, furs of firewood.

That was the plan.

Sadly it didn't go according to plan.

I miscalculated, or rather I didn't have enough information to make a calculation in the first place. How utterly foolish of me. How utterly ignorant of me.

Winter had come.

I was blindsided.

No one but us was caught unprepared you know? They all knew it was coming. Of course they did. They had lived through a winter or had someone who had to tell them it was coming. They had parents and families who would work together and get through it.

But y'know we don't.

We didn't know winter was coming, no one had told us. I had thought we were already in winter, how stupid am I huh?

Those stockpiles in preparedness for illness was nothing in the face of winter. Those few favors forgotten, buried under the snow.

When people don't want to deal with guilt, they just forget about the source. Out of sight, out of mind. We were forgotten easily.

All of us the children of whores, pariahs already, it was easy to forget us wasn't it? No one important.

"_Who cares about the foreign brat? It would seem those two sisters won't be offering us their cunts like their mother then. Oh well."_

Never before had I resented parentage like the day I heard those words.

"_Oh well."_

Parents... I know my mother was a whore, as were my sisters' mother. I managed to wheedle out our stories from one of the lumberjacks.

My mother, the Dornish whore, was for whatever reason travelling from Winter Town to Barrowton. Somehow she didn't fucking realise she was pregnant until she was halfway there. In the middle of nowhere.

Should she continue to travel, the pregnancy would take its toll on her health. Bare in mind that they were mostly travelling by foot with only a few horses to shoulder luggage; a pregnant woman is simply not something that the travellers could bare.

The obvious thing to do would be to get rid of the baby. But _nooo_.

My idiotic bint of a mother decided to suddenly find her humanity and did the foolish thing.

Instead of choosing to kill the brat and prolong her life, she grew attached to the parasite living in her womb and most stupidly chose to birth the beast in some (even more) backwater village. One ill equipped to handle a tough birth and ailing mother.

To me it sounded like a roundabout form of suicide. Most thought so too. She did it anyway, and she succeeded; both in killing herself and in birthing the babe.

In the year 266AC a Dornish whore voyaged for lands of the dead, leaving a single baby behind in this godforsaken spit of land.

My sisters births were a tad less stupid.

Their mother too was a whore; the local whore mind you, and the only one sympathise with my mother. The shack we lived in was actually hers, the place she would accept _customers _and the place I was born.

She was the one to take care of me during the first years. It was of off her that I breast fed. Given the fact she was lactating yet without a babe I imagine it was stillborn or aborted. This lends credence to her sympathy at my mother's plight.

Unfortunately she too was fairly dumb.

Despite seeing my mother die to childbirth in front of her, she would go on to birth the first of my sisters a year later, then die birthing the second sister a year and a half after that.

She was foolish, but when I recall the look she had upon laying eyes on the two for the first time, perhaps she thought it was worth it. I first accepted those two girls as my sisters as a way to repay the woman's foolish kindness.

_Alas they grew on me._

Who the girls father is I do not know. Who my father is I know even less, but I assume he's from Winter Town.

It was an idle thought of mine that I may see said father when we arrive at Winter Town.

But that was all buried under the mounting stress, panic and horror I felt during that journey.

My sisters were going to die. Of this I was as certain as could be. With each snowflake is saw and each step I took I was certain.

Yet there was little I could do to stop it.

To travel from our village to Winter Town would be long and arduous enough on horseback, but on foot? When winter is setting in? For a child of nine carrying an eight and six-year-old? Who are both ill, whose lives drip by with every passing second?

I don't know exactly what expression I was making, but there were few who could bare to look at me.

Of our travelling companions, people from our village and other villages surrounding, there were few indeed who could bare to look at the child stumbling through the snow supporting two more bodies tied to his back.

But I did not hate them. I did not have that kind of leeway.

'_Wouldn't it be easier to give up? The snow is warm. The snow shouldn't be warm. Sleep. Sleep together. Food. Eat. Close your eyes. You don't belong here anyway...'_

I was too busy battling with myself, exhaustion, hunger, cold and a rising sense of hopelessness to indulge the luxury of hate.

Without my steaming, there was no possible way for me to have made that journey.

So steam I did.

As winter began to set in the skys changed. When before the clouds might have let snowfall they had still been light, summer snow was certainly a thing, yet the striking blue sky was always behind it.

So bright and blue it hurt the eyes.

Now it was dim. Even during the day, the clouds overhung and darkened the land below. Rarely would there be a beam of unfiltered sunlight to warm us.

The sight of blue skies seemed like a distant memory compared to the brooding heavy grey clouds of that day.

Under that gloom, where snowfall was constant and unrelenting, there was a strange child carrying his burdens letting of steam almost bi-daily.

That was I.

With every steaming, with every flare of that fire at the end of my string, I grew just a little stronger.

The faces of those around us were filled with incomprehension. That I was still alive, that my sisters were still alive, that I steamed, that I kept up with those who had horses on foot…?

I do not know what exactly they found incomprehensible, but I planned on doing them all anyway.

I stumbled less, my footing becoming more sure with experience and greater strength. I became strong enough to hold one sister in my arms whilst the other was strapped flush to my back.

I would forgo eating on purpose, both so that my sisters could have more of meal and to increase the times I steamed. I did not care if I was burning my life, I used myself as a human heater.

Using the increased body heat I would experience during a steaming to warm my sisters.

With how many times I experienced the steaming I gradually grew used to the dizziness and dehydration. I was now able to keep moving during a steaming, unlike before when I would have to stop and fall behind the group.

This gave me the much needed strength of hope.

The second wind of hope came from Lord Stark's runners.

They came on horse-drawn sleds from the direction of Winterfell. We were to group up with other evacuation civilians. It was quite a sight.

When night is not much darker or colder than day, huddling together like penguins and torchlight was necessary.

I saw the group from a hill before we joined them. It was almost enough to make me cry. The warmth of numbers and light of torches beckoned like the moon and the starts to me.

The runners were to guide us to Winterfell and provide rations for the last leg of the journey.

'_Last leg?'_ I thought at the time. I had completely lost track of time, only focusing on moving forward.

Ironically, the rations and furs the runners gave to the young and elderly were better than anything we had had back at the village.

The people were far kinder too.

The children would take turns to ride on the sleds and rest our feet... Well for other children I suppose it was just a luxury, but for I it was a godsend respite form a constant trial.

In the massive hoard of people we were warmer and better fed than I could remember ever being. _I had hope._

As I lay mine and my sisters heads down on the cold wood of the sled under the concerned faces of the adults around us, I couldn't help but think;

'_They have sleds but no snowshoes…?'_

It was just a passing thought before much needed sleep then.

But of course things went bad once more.

My sisters took a turn for the worse.

Three days from Winter Town, despite the improvement in food and warmth, it became apparent they were nearing their ends.

At this point they were barely conscious, at least in the beginning they could talk but now I was lucky if I could get them to recognise me.

_Hope was dripping away._

I started making a snowshoe. I needed to get to Winter Town quicker and we weren't moving at night, so I forwent sleep and got to work best I could.

It was slow going between the lack of materials and my shaking hands. The "basket" edge was crude and prone to snapping, whilst the crisscrossing deck was made of twigs and bush instead of leather.

It was the best I could do with just twelve hours.

The shoes broke not even an hour after we started moving again in the morning.

I made a new one come midday break.

It broke in even less time.

During this time, even though the path was cleared by the runners and there were hundreds others around me to trample down the snow as we walked, you could still sink in, or even worse, slip on the compacted snow.

However I needed to move quicker.

My sisters were getting no better. The people who handed out rations would often shake their heads sadly at them. They pitied us, but they never did help further.

I no longer knew where the people from our village was amongst the crowd, but I'm sure they were numb to our continued survival by now.

'_We should have been dead long ago.'_ That fact was starting to sink in. We were on borrowed time already.

The hope and strength I felt at getting food and furs was draining.

Two days from Winterfell and the healer I asked to check my sisters said the same thing as yesterday;

"I'm amazed they made it through the night, but I doubt they will last till the morrow." With that he would shake his head and walk off.

_I was starting to lose hope._

I was desperate. So I did something stupid.

There was no point stealing a horse, I didn't know how to make it move, and rations were to heavily guarded for me to get too, but I _needed _better food for my sisters and to be in Winter Town asap so they may get better attention.

So I ran ahead.

When the group stopped for the night after handing out dinner rations… I didn't.

"The group ahead of us should have reached Kings Road by now." I heard.

There was multiple groups travelling to Winterfell. We were all currently making way to Kings Road where it would an easier travel to Winterfell.

Leaving the group behind me, with one sister strapped to my back and another held in my arms, I started to run. I started to run and steam.

I'm not sure what happened that night. I shut off. I was purpose without ego.

I reached the forward group at dawn break, then immediately continued running with them as they left.

It took a whole night of running and steaming to reach the group, but **I did it**.

Winterfell was only a day away.

'_There my sisters could get help.' _I thought I had found hope once more.

I was disillusioned of this notion when we reached Winter Town.

This was not a town but a refugee camp. People were spilling outside the walls of the town, having to set up tents and mass bonfires. Using the walls as shelter from the wind crammed together to share warmth.

I went into denial I think.

I went to the nearest healer and asked them to see my sisters. The old woman only shook her head at the sight of them. I stood still for a moment as they looked at me sadly… then ran off.

When I came back with a second healer the old lady was gone, but I had already forgotten about her. The young man shook his head silently at my sisters and looked at me sadly. I trembled on the spot and ran of once more.

When I came back with the third healer the young man was already gone, ut I had already forgotten about him. The old man shook his head softly at my sisters and looked at me sadly.

This time I broke down.

I clung to him, I begged, I cried, I threatened… eventually I could only ask;

"... _why_?"

The old man's face twisted further in sadness with each try I made, but he didn't move or try to get out of my grasp. He was kind man, I can tell that now.

"... They lack the proper food and housing to even attempt to get heal. I am amazed you three have managed this far… but I'm sorry. They will be gone by the morrow." This time, unlike when everyone else said so, there was a feel of finality to the kind old man's words.

My mind blanked.

When I came to I was on my knees, hands loose by my side. The old man was nowhere to be seen.

For a while I clung to my sisters and cried silently. Their unconscious forms were light, far to light in my arms and that had nothing to do with my increased strength.

I felt sick. I was going to lose them. Despite all I've tried it just wasn't good enough. As both my sisters lay side by side, faces flush and sweating as they barely managed to pant.

'_So small.' _It felt like I fit them in my palms. They were my little sisters. My treasures.

As I knelt by their side silently in our little corner of a public tent, I felt… nothing.

I was prepared to die with them. If they were to die I will follow after. I don't know why I thought thus, but I truly did intend to go through with that promise.

_I lost hope._

_I was to await death by their sides_. It was not resignation or contentment, but that was the only acceptable decision my oh-so-tired mind could conjure.

Then my eyes widened slightly.

'_...They lack the proper food and housing...'_

Then… if I get them that?

'_Okay.'_

My body moved before my mind. Towards the outskirts of our camp.

'_Help will not come freely.'_ Number one.

'_Only Lord Stark would be able to help.'_ Number two.

'_I will need something to bargain with.' _Number three.

What though?

'_They have sleds but no snowshoes…?' _It was truly an idle thought before sleep.

Snowshoes.

'_Okay.'_

I had hope once more.

.

.

Some hours later I found the old man once more and asked of his help.

"Please look after them till I get back." It was my most sincere wish of the kindest man I had met in this life.

"Very well. I wish you luck." I'm not sure if he would have said that had he known what I was risking.

There was a high possibility for me to just get chucked into jail, knocked unconscious and left for dead, or being straight up killed for what I was going to attempt.

In that case I won't be getting back soon and my sisters will pass… However at the very least they will have someone kind by their sides at the end. Even if it's not me.

.

.

"I need to see Lord Stark." As I stood before a guardsman at the gates of Winterfell, I said thus loud and clear.

I was mocked then ignored. Obviously.

"I need to see Lord Stark." They were got a bit irritated, it had been a stressful day for everyone sorting the influx of people. They had no time for a kid and his nonsense.

I gulped.

"Come back tomorr-" One of the guards came up to me. He looked like a reasonable fellow, just trying to shoo off the troublemaker with words when he could do much worse.

I sighed to myself at what I was going to do. This would make an enemy of a guiltless guardsman for, to him, no reason at all.

'_I have not quarrel with you but…'_

I punched him in the crotch.

The guard doubled over with a groan. I made no further movement. This needed to be as big of a scene as I could make it.

When the guard straightened up again there was fury in his eyes. That is as expected. This man I don't know the name of will now try to hurt me.

The other guards were looking over, but made no move to interfere. This was just a strange little brat about to be beat up. Maybe they were laughing?

The man charged me barehanded.

We tussled, if you could call it that. I mainly just dodged, only hitting to keep him fighting. I took a blow to the lip and a punch to the face. But I didn't let it stop.

With my newfound strength I ducked and weaved. I needed to gather more attention.

The guardsman was well and truly incensed now. He reached for his spear.

More people were paying attention, a few guardsmen closing in around us. This was the moment of truth.

He swung at me. Not a stab, or thrust but a motion like a baseball swing. He did not intend to kill me.

I'm glad. He was a kind man.

I did not dodge, I did not guard or flinch, I only stood there and took it. As the butt end of the spear buried itself in my gut I was lifted off my feet, my breath stolen from my lungs.

I landed heavily on my back, the guardsmen around us paused. The sight of a child who could have definitely dodged taking the full brunt of an adults strike without a word caught their attention better than any scream, shout or struggle could have.

They were confused.

My opponent panted in exertion. Our little game of cat and mouse took more out of him than I thought. But despite his rage there was a hint of confusion to his eyes.

More guards approached my fallen form. They were probably going to chuck me in jail. I was tired. I didn't want to get up. But I had too.

The approaching men stopped when they saw the boy they thought unconscious quite calmly clamber to his feet.

I shook the snow off my back and faced the guardsmen before me. I was scared, scared this wouldn't work but I had to try.

I focused on my sisters; their flushed faces, scrawny limbs, the way their ribs show all too easily under their skin. I focused on their smiles, their laughter, their tears, their scowls… I focused on how that all may be gone come the sunrise.

Standing straight, fighting down the fear, desperation and pain, I bit my lip to hold back the tears and spoke with the steadiest voice I could muster.

"I need to see Lord Stark… _please_." Reluctant as I am to admit, in the end I just couldn't hold back the tears any longer.

I think, however, it was that very failure that got me in.

.

.

I kept myself straight. Resisting the urge to clutch my stomach in pain. I dried my tears as someone lead me through the castle.

I'm not sure what he might have said as we journeyed to the Lord's solar, my mind was in a haze. I was only barely staying on my feet.

'_It's cold, I'm tired, I'm hungry. What if it doesn't work? You should be by your sisters.'_

I ignored the voices and we reached the solar.

He was intimidating. Even when sitting behind a desk his frame was imposing and strong. His grey eyes heavy on my person and the shadows cast by candlelight only made him more ominous.

Yet I almost fell to my knees in happiness. I had reached him. _Now there was a chance._

I had hope.

We talked, of what I can't recall. I was on autopilot. Merely going through the motions. I think I acted childishly in my giddiness, but somehow we got to the point.

I could barely see, my vision was starting to swim, but I kept my eyes on him. I know people find them unnerving and I needed to make an impression.

"These are called snow shoes."

.

.

A few hours later my sisters had been extracted from the public tent I left them in. I said goodbye to the kind old man and promised I would repay him.

A few hours later still there were people fussing over my sisters. I think I saw a man with an ornamental chain hanging from his neck. I do not know.

I sat by their side as words were exchanged above me. People became blurs and voices vague.

I sat there on a chair to the side, with my hands on my knees and head bowed, waiting.

Eventually someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was a man I did not recognised. I looked at him with a blank face. I was exhausted.

"They will make it." The words swam through my consciousness.

I let out a long sigh.

Then my eyes rolled back and I blacked out.

.

.

**AN**: Reviewed version. Cut out the dialogue in the beginning. I don't think it was that bad, but given the real crappy reception I guess I'm weird.

This ended up as I hoped it wouldn't; real fucking wordy. I was trying to cut back on that.

This is the new backstory. I didn't mean for the healing to come across "regeneration superpower" but I guess the way I wrote it, that misunderstanding is understandable.

The "superpower" is a **minor **thing. _It is not a pivotal plot function. _It's just a thing that keeps Arthur alive long enough to make his life interesting.

So I downplayed it a lot more in this version. Hopefully it comes across more "he's gonna need that" than "that's fucking game breaking" because it's _not_.

To all those who gave up upon reading that second chapter very well. I do not blame them.

However to all those who have chosen to give this a second chance by reading once more, I sincerely thank you.

It is you who I write for.


End file.
